by Philip Smith
“He said there was a blonde she-elf with them.”
Paige felt a pang go through her heart and the tips of her pointed ears flush as panic pumped through her veins. Armed men with a blonde girl that looked like an elf; there was only one other band of people that could possibly be.
The chief sighed. Amidst the shock of knowing they were on the right path to Aschin, and Olivian was in fact still alive, she couldn’t blame these people for the hostilities shown. They had lost a loved one and had little information with which to take vengeance for their loss. Even still, Paige was not willing to be blamed for the murder of a young, innocent boy.
Locamnen strode like a peacock to the side of the throne, twirling his cane.
“My lord, the evidence is quite clear; this rabble of half-breeds and despicable creatures are guilty! There’s no one else it could have been.”
Robert shouted, “Did it hurt when you pulled that pack of lies from so far up your—”
The man struck his cane across Robert’s face, cutting him off. Barely fazed, Robert hurtled forward, barreling into his accuser with a shout of rage. The room erupted into chaos as everyone rushed Robert.
Paige saw an opportunity with the temporary chaos and began to work the ropes on her wrists, finding that the knots were not tight at all. With each jostle and tug she felt them loosen. Just a little more, and… there! She had one hand loose.
The guards who held her were now in the fray, so she slipped over to the wall on her right. Paige was about to break for the door when strong hands grasped her shoulder. Acting on impulse, she swung with as much force as she could muster. Her fist slammed into a rather pudgy face, and she felt the squish as her knuckles connected. The scribe teetered like a top and went down, cold as a snuffed candle, as Paige scrambled to get to the door. As she reached it, members of the nearby mob realized her intentions. The commotion shifted its attention. She was suddenly surrounded by men shoving and grabbing to get their hands on her shirt.
“Stop them!” she heard the high-pitched voice of Locamnen screaming. “They must be punished! They killed one of our own!”
The princess toppled the first guard to grab her wrist, proceeding to kick the shin of the next unfortunate man to cross her path and stomping down on his toes for good measure. Paige shoved them down, one by one, into the dirt, when a sharp rap smote her behind her left ear. She crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain. The savages continued beating her, their powerful fists raining down merciless blows. Her lip was cut now, and she didn’t know how much more she could take. Gasping, she tried to rise to her knees. Every time she tried, another arm was driven down on her shoulders, and she was pushed back into the sea of fists and boots. She could hear the earl calling for order, but the yelling tribesmen were so loud that his voice was drowned. Her head pounded in pain to the rhythm of the bony fists that struck her.
The pummeling stopped abruptly as she felt someone throw themselves over her like a shield. Through swelling eyes, she looked up to see Dinendale protecting her from the scores of fists beating down upon them. His dark eyes filled with fiery rage as he winced, taking the blows upon his own back. The guards finally began to calm the angry men. Soon, order was restored, and the roar was reduced to a low growl. Paige faintly heard a deep, authoritative voice barking loudly as everything went hazy. She slumped in a beaten stupor against the cool, rammed-earth floor.
◆◆◆
Dinendale was yanked to his feet. He had kept calm, hoping to increase their chances of release, but after Robert’s raging attack, he realized that their captors weren’t going to simply let them go. Once the men started beating Paige for trying to escape, Dinendale lost the vestige of his control.
He hadn’t asked for this. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to be on this journey back to the one place he’d hoped he would never see. He’d not planned to have to fend off a troop of Bogartrolls. And he definitely hadn’t expected to be trapped a captive of some backwater tribe in the Wild. But the moment the first fist connected with Paige, he felt some protective instinct deep in the pit of his stomach rise to his chest and light his neck on fire.
His arms had felt like braided steel as he wrenched them free of the cords on his wrists. Pushing past the two guards behind him, he managed to push Paige to the floor and out of immediate danger, holding his body over her as a living shield. He saw her go limp as she passed out, but he continued to block the furious fists of the enraged tribesmen as best he could.
Almost as quickly as the uproar had begun, the room fell to a murmur and the brawl ceased; the fists stopped their pounding and the boots, their kicking. Hands hauled Dinendale to his feet, and the dark elf looked up. The men were quiet, staring with shock, contempt, and curiosity at the scene before them. A large figure stood in the middle of the floor; a burly man, with thick red hair and a curly beard. His pants of rough spun wool and baggy shirt were covered with soot stains and dirt marks from the years spent in this smoky backwoods village. His brawny hands rested on his hips, a posture which struck Dinendale as more suited to a scolding mother than to a man commanding authority.
“You button-headed, sniveling, donkey-hearted wretches!” he bellowed, reminding Dinendale of an angry bear. “You would accuse them of murder and injustice, then commit the crime yourself!” The men mumbled, thinking this through. The ruddy man crossed to the guards holding Dinendale. He studied the dark elf, then turned to the earl.
“I realize that I cannot vouch for these people’s honesty, yet I would see them pardoned.”
Shouting erupted throughout the room, with Locamnen’s voice the loudest of them all.
“You would have murderers run free!” he raged.
“We have no proof that these are the true killers!” retorted the group’s defender.
Another man stepped forward from the crowd, his braided beard covering his wide girth. “Hanburg, you fat ox, we need no proof! The boy’s attackers were heavily armed, and accompanied by a blonde girl!”
“Have you even entertained the thought that this may not be the same party?” The hefty man tuned to the earl, huge hands outstretched. “Earl, there is no evidence! Let them go; forgive instead of condemn, especially on such shaky grounds.”
“So, Hanburg, you genuinely believe in the odds of two identical parties in our woods are that concrete!?” Locamnen sneered.
“Oh shut up, Locamnen, we all know you are just after the reward Larne the Red offered for the slayers of his son!”
Locamnen seethed with anger, his fists balled up at his side.
“How dare you impune my honor, you—”
“Save it, you sniveling curr,” another man spat at Locamnen. “We all know it was no honor nor love for Larne that drove you to the woods!”
“These have to be them!” Locamnen screamed, whirling to face the earl. “Surely, my lord, you see that the coincidence is too great to allow these people to live.”
“We told you already!” Twostaves bellowed. “That group wasn’t us! We are chasing after the same people here!”
“Shut up, Twostaves,” Robert hissed through gritted teeth.
“It’s true!” the giant pushed, the four men attempting to keep him restrained, struggling as he stood to his full height. Several warriors lowered spears about him, wary and ready to finish the unarmored giant. “We seek the same group you do!”
“ENOUGH, you stupid, bumbling buffoon!” Robert snapped.
Locamnen eyed the group now, suspicious and calculating. The earl, meanwhile shook his head heavily, as if burdened with a great weight upon his back. He looked from the seven prisoners before him to Locamnen and then back.
“As much as I want to believe you,” he finally said, “I cannot just ignore this. There is evidence, and, while not conclusive, it is at least convincing. I am sorry.”
“Fetch the executioner!” Locamnen cheered, almost giddy.
“Wait!” cried Hanburg, protectively moving in front of the Brotherhood. “I c
annot allow such barbarous actions to take place.”
“Is this treason, Hanburg? Do you question the earl’s judgment?” screeched Locamnen, fist raised.
“I would follow my earl to any end, unlike some, Locamnen. But these men cannot be condemned unjustly.”
“They are as likely lying as speaking truth,” spat Locamnen. “Half of these lot aren’t even human. When was the last time you heard of an elf telling the truth about anything?”
“Last time our people heard about an elf in the Wild, our grandfathers hadn’t even been born, so what makes you think your perception is even close to accurate?”
Locamnen marched forward, sticking his hooked nose a mere finger’s breadth from Hanburg’s own.
“I will not risk the safety of this clan on your hunch, Hanburg,” the man sneered. Hanburg’s lip curled in disgust.
“Pish-posh. You care about the gold. Your concern for this village runs about as deep as your concern for oral hygiene.”
Locamnen reared his boney fist back for a punch. Hanburg smiled coyly. The man’s fist connected with Hamburg’s rosey, fleshy face with the sound of skin slapping skin. The big man winced briefly from the blow, then grabbed the back of Locamnen’s scalp-lock and smashed his forehead into the scarecrow’s face. Locamnen fell to the floor howling, a chorus of cheers and booing mixed in the stuffy air of the chamber.
“You will all bear witness, he assaulted me first,” Hanburg bellowed, stepping over the crumpled, sputtering mess of a man now on the floor and turned to face Dinendale. Grasping the elf’s shoulders, he stared directly into his fawn-brown eyes.
“Tell me, elf, looking into my eyes, that you are innocent,” he said gravely. Dinendale never wavered.
“Neither my friends, nor I, slew the boy,” he evenly replied. “I swear it upon the graves of my kin.” The man looked at him for a moment, searching his face, then he turned.
“Can you explain what it is you were doing in our wood?”
Dinendale considered this. Every detail of their quest relied on secrecy and speed, and they were losing both, thanks to Twostaves’ interjection.
“I can tell you we are heading east, tracking possibly the same party you seek revenge on.”
“From where?”
“Do you know the village of Kapernaum?”
There was a murmur among the crowd. The earl looked genuinely surprised.
“Kapernaum is not unknown to us,” he said, gesturing to the people around the room. “Many traders pass through here on their way to the market there.”
“Well, there is no market there anymore,” Dinendale said carefully. “That girl lying there. She is from there. The Shahir’s army burned it to the ground two weeks ago.”
The crowd began murmuring in disbelief, whispering to each other. Hanburg looked to the earl expectantly.
“What have you to say about that, your lordship?”
The earl looked thoughtful. Locamnen staggered to his feet, clutching his bleeding nose, his eyes spilling hatred at Hanburg.
“This is still not definitive proof, and Larne the Red’s son can not go unavenged!”
“Oh, save it, you pathetic runt!” A tall, brawny man with red hair the color of cooking coals in a fireplace stepped forward, his long beard splaying out in all directions. “My boy is dead, and no one wants to see his killer’s head on a pike more than I do. But I’m not shelling out gold on the chance that you of all people might be wrong!”
“What do you suggest then, Larne?” Hanburg asked, scrutinizing the man. The father of the slain boy kneaded his brow, weary lines etched into his face that hadn’t seen a good night’s sleep in days.
“I say we send a band to Kapernaum. Verify this elf’s story. If they are telling the truth, we let them go. If not, I will have my vengeance. What think you, earl?”
“Ridiculous! That could take a month!” Locamnen protested.
“You’ll not see a speck of gold until I know for sure you didn’t just get lucky and once again try to cheat your way into a lucrative reward!” Larne the Red shouted at Locamnen. The crowd erupted in shouting once more till the earl raised his staff high over his head, demanding silence.
“ENOUGH! I will hear no more on this matter. Larne’s suggestion is seeded with wisdom. Hanburg, do you agree?”
“I do, my lord,” he declared, “but our gatehouse is no place to keep seven travellers, who may be completely innocent.”
“We cannot just let them walk free, Hanburg,” the earl said definitively.
“Aye, m’lord. Then as in the old days of our people, I declare the right of Ghaulgra Din.”
The room hushed. Dinendale felt slight panic set in; whatever that phrase meant, it must not have been invoked very often. The earl looked askance at Locamnen, then stood, staff in hand.
“So be it. The prisoners will be sold in the square at sun-peak tomorrow.” he slowly announced. Hanburg exhaled slowly, relief etched on his face. Locamnen fumed, glaring at Dinendale.
“Oh, great and mighty ruler, I thank you in sincerity of heart. May I ask but one boon more?” Hanburg added.
The earl looked at him warily.“Yes?”
Hanburg threw a leather purse to the ground. The clinking of metal as it landed betrayed its contents.
“I claim the elf as my property,” he said simply. The earl waved his hand.
“Yes, yes; whichever one you desire. Just leave the matter at rest. I will hear no more; I grow weary of this debate.” With that, he exited the stone building, trailed by several bodyguards. As he left, the room began to buzz as the remainder of the crew discussed this turn in events. Soldiers jerked the Brotherhood to their feet and ushered them out. One man unbound Dindndale and shoved him over to Hanburg, who took the elf by the shoulder.
“Come along, lad. We’ve some work to discuss, you and I.” He leaned in and whispered, “Together, we can see to putting this right!”
“We are slaves now?”
“Yes, until the party can return from Kapernaum, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “But don’t you worry. We won’t be waiting that long. Now we have more flexibility and can begin laying some semblance of a plan.”
Dinendale felt his temper flare again. A slave once again. And all because of a mission he hadn’t even wanted to go on in the first place. But his temper was quenched as he saw Paige lying on the floor of the hut. He sighed and looked the councilman in the eye.
“Sir, I can never thank you enough for standing up for us, but I would beg that you don’t spend your gold on me. I’m strong enough to serve anywhere I am sentenced for a while, but the girl is still extremely weak, though she would never admit it. She would probably be worked to death with anyone else, unable to regain her strength. Your earl said to take whichever one you desire; if you have any heart, please; take her,” Dinendale finished.
Hanburg considered him for a moment, then turned to the guard bending to lift Paige. He hesitated, then took one last look at Dinendale.
“Soldier!” he barked. The startled warrior almost dropped the unconscious princess, but he quickly recovered, straightening his shoulders.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, his frosty tone betraying his disapproval. Hanburg glanced at Dinendale once more, then took his shoulder.
“I’ve changed my mind; I’ll take the girl. I’ve a daughter her age, and the girl will make a good companion for her.” The soldier shrugged, relinquishing Paige. He practically threw her into Hanburg’s arm like a sack of potatoes. The hefty man nodded to the elf and gently carried the fallen princess out the door of the meetinghouse. Dinendale found himself sighing a breath of relief. Paige would be alright. He watched Hanburg leave with her, feeling the bruises pulsating on his back. The guard stepped forward with another set of ropes to tie up the elf’s hands, but Dinendale stood fast, keeping his arms locked at his side.
“I won’t run,” he muttered. “Not without my friends.” Then the dark elf strode out the door, followed by a very befuddled and spe
echless guard.
◆◆◆
Paige moaned as she tried to raise up on her elbows. The splitting ache down the center of her head pounded like a woman beating the dust out of a rug, her temples beating their own tune against her skull. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. The pain began to abate as a cold, damp cloth was pressed to her brow. Paige’s eyelids fluttered open and began to focus in the warm light.
A young woman stood above her, holding a bowl of cold water in one hand and a wet rag in the other. Her olive-colored skin had just the slightest tone of reddish-brown the people of this village all shared, and this warm color complimented by her rich, charcoal-black hair and thick eyelashes. Her brows were creased with concern for Paige as she applied the cold compress. The slightest smattering of freckles spattered across her rosy cheeks like the stars in the heavens on the clearest of nights. The girl wore an ivory deerskin dress embroidered around the shoulders with blue and green threads intertwining into a wavelike pattern. A sash of golden homespun cloth wrapped several times around her waist with various trinkets dangling from it like a wind chime. She smiled down at Paige with deep set, cocoa-brown eyes.
